<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>white fence in pasadena by bipolyjack</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943796">white fence in pasadena</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipolyjack/pseuds/bipolyjack'>bipolyjack</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Bullying, Character Analysis, Hand Jobs, M/M, One-Sided Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Pining James Griffin (Voltron), Underage Masturbation, attempted hurt/comfort kind of. no comfort tho, no cis language for keith, sorry this is miserable i simply have opinions and i must voice them</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:22:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipolyjack/pseuds/bipolyjack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Griffin,” he says hoarsely, and James realizes with alarm that the red rimming Keith’s eyes is, in fact, the ugly remnants of tears. “I need help, man.”</p>
</blockquote>James has been watching Keith for a long time. Longer, if you think about it, than Keith has been watching Shiro.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Griffin/Keith (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>white fence in pasadena</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The double knock is smart and tidy, but when James palms open the door of his quarters, he finds maybe the least put-together Keith he’s ever seen. The dude’s a mess, hair all fucked up, pale and hunched, hands shaking. An absolutely destroyed look in his eyes, when he tilts his head down to look James in the face (he’s a little taller than James these days. Older. They used to be the same age, what happened? Like yeah, space is weird, and time is weirder, but he’s like… it’s just weird. He was a scrawny kid. James was always the one looking down at him before.)</p><p> </p><p>“Griffin,” he says hoarsely, and James realizes with alarm that the red rimming Keith’s eyes is, in fact, the ugly remnants of tears. “I need help, man.”</p><p> </p><p>James wasn’t asleep when Keith knocked, but he sure was half-dozing on the couch, zoning out in front of the TV, a decent amount of champagne still in his system. With his brain running at about twenty percent, it takes him a hot second to puzzle through Keith’s presence outside his door. Keith doesn’t even live on base anymore. What the fuck is he doing here, in the Garrison officers’ quarters, in the middle of the night? Looking for James, of all people?</p><p> </p><p>Instead of asking any of his several questions, James nods once, takes Keith by the arm, draws him inside, and shuts the door.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“What? And he was how old?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fifteen,” says Shirogane, laughing, choosing a table for him and the bridge crewman whose name tag James can't quite see from this angle. James was a few people behind them in line, and he didn't mean to overhear, but, well. Not his fault his ears tend to perk up when he hears Keith's name.</p><p> </p><p>"Of course, I beat him again the next time. And the time after that," Shirogane is saying, stirring the nutrient mush on his tray with a smile. The smile dims as James watches, replaced, at least for a brief moment, with an unquiet look. James ducks behind his coffee mug as Shirogane's eyes go unfocused, but his loose stare passes over James without recognition. </p><p> </p><p>James doesn't have the whole story, but he's been collecting the pieces for a while now. Enough to get the general shape of the thing. Shirogane and Keith were close before Kerberos - Keith always acted like no one else existed, it was kind of embarrassing, especially considering that Shirogane had a boyfriend - and now they're back on Earth with their new uniforms and their new scars and they won't even look at each other. Not at the same time, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>James catches Keith looking plenty, when he happens to observe them in the same room. Keith has never been good at hiding what's going on in his head. And James would have to be pretty stupid to miss the hurt rejection on Keith's face every time he looks at Shirogane now.</p><p> </p><p>So he finally said it. Said something, anyway, sometime while they were out there in space, flying their weird lion mechs together. And Shirogane turned him down.</p><p> </p><p>It's gotta suck, James thinks, spooning down his mush on autopilot - god, you think you'd get used to food not tasting like anything, but every day he wishes for the textural variety of a bacon cheeseburger - hiding (badly) a crush on a guy for literal years of your life, and then to confess your feelings or whatever while fighting aliens in deep space, or whatever, he doesn't have the specifics, but to be let down, after all that? Bummer.</p><p> </p><p>And to watch Shirogane very obviously moving on without him? Big shiny new floating robot arm, silver hair, chatting up this Atlas bridge tech in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of god and everyone? James makes shapes in his nutrient slurry with the flat of his spoon. Like, on one hand, he gets it. There was a ceremony for the pilots lost in the first wave of Sendak’s occupation. James went. They said nice things about Adam, but dead is dead. If he were Shirogane, he’d want to move on too. Throw himself into his work, meet new people. Long time to be stuck with the same handful of squadmates, out there in space where you can’t get away from anyone, no matter how awkward it gets.</p><p> </p><p>But for Keith? It’s gotta suck.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Keith staggers, almost collapses against him before the door has even slid completely shut. His breathing is uneven, every exhale punching out of him like he can’t get the air out of his lungs fast enough, like it's poisoning him. James thought it was just Keith's hands that were shaking; it’s only now that he notices, holding Keith up by the elbows, that he’s trembling all over. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey - whoa, hey, what’s up? You don’t look so good, dude. You sick? Hurt?”</p><p> </p><p>Keith shakes his head, not even trying to support his own weight. It’s scaring James a little, this Keith who’s too fucked up to even attempt to project a tough front. “S-sorry,” he mumbles, taking a half-step past James, and that’s as far as he makes it before his face completely crumples and he covers it with his hands, folds over like a wet piece of paper, dragging James to the floor with him. </p><p> </p><p>His breathing has gone from harsh panting to hyperventilation. James can recognize a panic attack when he sees one. He's sat with Leifsdottir through a few. You don't survive an intergalactic war without gaining an intimate familiarity with all the ways a human brain can come totally unraveled. “Hey. Hey, man, it’s okay. Breathe for me, okay? You can do that, right? Slow down.”</p><p> </p><p>Keith sounds like he’s choking. On what, James doesn’t know. He spreads a hand across Keith’s heaving shoulder blades, puts steady pressure there, desperately raking through his recent memory to try and figure out what the fuck -</p><p> </p><p>Ah, Keith’s still wearing the white dress shirt he had on this afternoon under his suit and tie. At Shirogane's wedding. That's why he's in town. It all slots into place.</p><p> </p><p>James didn’t get a good look at Keith’s face during the ceremony, but he did see him at the reception after. Smiling to Shirogane's face, fist clenched around the stem of an untouched champagne flute, looking like he’d swallowed broken glass whenever Shirogane turned his back. Those glass shards are lodging in his chest now, for sure, it’s his own blood he’s choking on. James knows that without asking, now that his foggy brain has finally parsed the situation.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he says again, trying to maintain his low, soothing tone. What the fuck else is he supposed to say? “Kogane, look at me. Come on, man. Keith.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s his first name that jolts Keith enough to lift his face out of his hands. His eyes are so, so red.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t,” he gasps, and fuck, he’s still shaking, struggling for air. “I can’t - I can’t -”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you can. Yeah, you’re doing it. That’s already better. Look at me, man.” James catches Keith’s chin in his hand when Keith tries to dip his head again. “No, no, come on, look at me. Keep looking at me, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t make me,” Keith says weakly, tugging against James’s grip on his jaw, and for a second he's small again, like he used to be, just a scrappy kid tired of being knocked around and god, James feels sorry for him. He looks like shit, but he’s using James’s shoulder to lever himself back to his feet now, as if he's at all steady enough to be pushing James away (he isn't, he very visibly isn't). James rises with him, keeping a hand to his back, ready to catch him if he goes down again, but he's just looking at James wild-eyed like he’s just seen him for the first time, or maybe just realized where he is, gripping the front of his shirt in both fists, shaking. Still shaking.</p><p> </p><p>"You good?" says James cautiously, knowing damn well that he isn't.</p><p> </p><p>"Help me," Keith says again, and there's something in his voice this time, a raw-edged pleading, that makes James kind of lose his mind, because what the fuck could he do or say to fix anything for Keith right now? Nothing. No one could.</p><p> </p><p>"Look, dude, I want to, just - what do you want? What do you want me to -"</p><p> </p><p>Keith fixes him with an utterly desperate look, mouth a little open like he still can't quite breathe right, like he's trying to make words come out and can't, and James thinks about how Keith always used to look at Shirogane and they'd say shit with just their eyes, without speaking aloud. James noticed because he always noticed Keith, even when he tried not to, and Keith hadn't seen James looking, at the time, because he wasn't looking anywhere but at the screen in the flight sim, or at Shirogane.</p><p> </p><p>Keith and Shirogane don't do that anymore, the silent eye talking thing. James has noticed that too.</p><p> </p><p>Keith yanks James tight against him and for a second James thinks he's about to get the shit beat out of him but then in the next second their mouths slam into each other so hard it fucking hurts and Keith is kissing him like James's mouth is the only thing holding him together (maybe it is) and cutting his lip open on James' teeth like he hates himself (and maybe he does).</p><p> </p><p>James doesn't stop him, not even when he tastes blood.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>"Hey - fucking watch it!"</p><p> </p><p>Kogane stumbles a step, but doesn't give the pissy retort James was expecting. The Garrison's corridors get crowded between classes, banging shoulders isn't uncommon, but Kogane is glassy-eyed like he has no idea where he is, like he's moving through a dream. </p><p> </p><p>"Hey." James catches his arm. "Kogane? What's your damage?"</p><p> </p><p>And then his brain catches up: Kogane's heading for Iverson's office. The overhead monitors in the corridor are playing yet another newscast of the vanished Kerberos crew - it's been the only thing on the screens all day - and Kogane is shaking in James's grip, the muscle of his arm taut as a wire, face blank with fury.</p><p> </p><p>He wrenches his arm free without looking at James, without even acknowledging him, and keeps shoving against the press of students towards Iverson's door. "Kogane, wait!" James yells, half-turning, almost tempted to go after him. But Kogane doesn't hear him, or if he does, he doesn't look back.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>James isn't sure how they made it out of his front hallway, but they seem to be in his cramped little living room now, crowding each other onto the couch, kissing and pulling at each other's clothes and struggling for breath.</p><p> </p><p><em> Is this really what you want </em>, James almost says like five different times, but can't quite bring himself to pull away long enough to get the words out. Besides, he knows the answer. Not the one Keith would give verbally in this moment - he's not thinking clearly, obviously - but the one he means, for real, deep down. Of course not. Of course this isn't what he wants, not really. Does he need it? Yes, James believes that, with the way Keith's fingers dig into his shoulders and the desperate, raspy noises he keeps making low in his throat as he gets James pinned on his back on the couch and grinds against him, shuddering. </p><p> </p><p>He needs it, yeah obviously. Will he regret it tomorrow? Of course he will. </p><p> </p><p>James should stop him. </p><p> </p><p>But he won't.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>"He looks good."</p><p> </p><p>"Who?"</p><p> </p><p>"Kogane." Kinkade tilts his chin in the direction Keith and the other Paladins have just gone, crossing the hangar with Iverson and a procession of techs and officers like returning heroes (which, to be fair, they are). "He's done some growing up. Looks good on him."</p><p> </p><p>Kinkade doesn't look at James, doesn't give him an eyebrow or anything, but James feels called out somehow. "We've all done some growing up since our cadet days."</p><p> </p><p>Keith is taller than him now, he's pretty sure. It's weird. It's throwing him off balance. Feels backwards, or something.</p><p> </p><p>"Weren't you two always getting into it before?" Kinkade remarks, ducking his head under his MFE and tugging at a loose cable.</p><p> </p><p>James folds his arms, lets his shoulders hunch a little, since Kinkade isn't looking. "Mostly my fault. I picked on him. Came after him for not having parents.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wow,” says Kinkade as James watches Keith’s mother put her hand on her son’s shoulder. Eight foot tall purple alien lady. Very much real, very much alive. Keith looks a lot like her. James blows out a sigh.</p><p> </p><p> “I was an asshole. He just bit back, like anyone would."</p><p> </p><p>"You talked about him a lot, you know."</p><p> </p><p>"What?" James is indignant.</p><p> </p><p>"You did." Kinkade's voice is perfectly cool from beneath his fighter. "It was all, 'Kogane's sim scores' and 'Kogane's combat training routine' and 'Kogane's perky little -'"</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, you know what, Kinkade? Shut the fuck up. I wasn't <em> that </em> -"</p><p> </p><p>"Man, you shoulda heard yourself." Kinkade is <em> laughing </em> under there, the fucker. </p><p> </p><p>James kicks his leg, petulant. "Alright, look, dude, I know I was a little shit. You don't have to rub my face in it."</p><p> </p><p>Kinkade emerges with a grease stain on one cheek, grinning. "Griffin, you were a little shit with a crush. Very 'get out of my school.' You're just better at hiding it now."</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up," James says again, and turns away to hide his hot face. "Who cares what I think about Keith? Not like it matters with <em> him </em> around."</p><p> </p><p>But he could already tell, just from watching them for ten minutes, that Keith's not stuck to Shirogane's side like he used to be.</p><p> </p><p>He still feels eyes on his back, so he turns around. Kinkade is looking at him funny. As if he hasn't been already, but he's really staring now. </p><p> </p><p>"Kinkade, what the fuck?"</p><p> </p><p>"Hold up," says Kinkade, unslinging his camcorder and flicking the viewfinder open, focusing in on James's blazing cheeks. "Say that again."</p><p> </p><p>"Uh, which part? 'Who cares what I think about Keith'?"</p><p> </p><p>The little red light on the camera glares at him, accusatory.</p><p> </p><p>Kinkade is grinning. "Never heard you call him that before. Wanted to catch it on film, in case no one believes me - yo, what - dude, knock it off!"</p><p> </p><p>James continues to make lunging grabs for the camcorder. "Delete that footage, Kinkade, I swear to god -"</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>"Oh fuck," James says, muffling a groan against the side of Keith's neck. Keith has got a hand down James's sweatpants, fingers searching along until he can get a strong grip on James's cock. To stop himself from making any more embarrassing noises, James sucks a bruise into the soft skin under Keith's jaw. Keith gasps, but doesn't stop him.</p><p> </p><p>James doesn't want Keith to stop him. He wants to feel Keith come apart under his hands, no matter how deeply they're going to regret it tomorrow. (And they are going to regret it tomorrow.)</p><p> </p><p>Shirt - in the way. James tugs at the starched collar, trying to get at Keith's chest, at the sharp hollow of his clavicle, and Keith gets the idea and helps him wrestle the shirt off one-armed. He won't take his hand away from James's cock. </p><p> </p><p>James doesn't want him to, god, not even for a second, but the whole shirt is pooled around Keith's hand now and James wants to see it working, wants to see the jump of the vein at the underside of his wrist every time he makes a stroke. It's getting hard to think. Hard to breathe. James's chest feels fizzy-full, like when he used to suck the helium out of party balloons as a kid. </p><p> </p><p>Hands on his shirt now, on his bare skin under the shirt. Keith wants it off. James obligingly lifts his arms, lets Keith yank it free. He wants what Keith wants. (He knows he shouldn't. He doesn't care.)</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>James is sixteen years old the first time he thinks about Kogane while jacking off in the shower. </p><p> </p><p>He just happened to be going in as Kogane was coming out, wet hair sticking to his neck and face, hip bones just visible above his towel. James sort of sneered at him on his way past, but now that he's picked a cubicle and taken himself in hand under the showerhead, those sharply angled hips are the only thing he can think about.</p><p> </p><p>He's breathing hard into the crook of his own arm, mouth open, trying to keep the slap of flesh to a minimum as he works himself. It's standard shower jacking protocol - nobody's under the impression that everybody isn't doing it, they all share bunks, when and where the hell else is it supposed to happen - but James always feels like it's only polite to be discreet. Hearing other cadets go at it in the showers always makes him feel like an asshole, somehow, like he should be plugging his ears, even though it's not his fault that other dudes don’t have the common sense or decency to even try to hide the noises they’re making two stalls over and James's face heats up to a thousand degrees and his cock gets hard even as he cranks the water to cold and plunges his head under the frigid spray.</p><p> </p><p>(Maybe it's just him. Maybe he's the only one having this problem.)</p><p> </p><p>Those sharp little hips, god, fuck, they look just right for grabbing. James can't stop thinking about it, eyes clenched shut, pushing into the tight slick of his fist over and over.</p><p> </p><p>"Kogane," he mumbles under his breath, almost experimentally, and then bites down on his arm as he comes, doubled over against the shower wall, taken completely by surprise at the overwhelming strength of it.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>"Kogane," James says, breathless, fevered, tugging at the longer hair at the back of Keith's neck. "Bedroom - I got stuff - in there -"</p><p> </p><p>They've managed to jointly struggle out of their clothes, fucking finally, naked and sweaty on top of each other on the couch. He needs to be inside of Keith so fucking bad. Keith needs it too, James can feel it, the desperate way he grinds himself against James's dick, still holding it in place with his hand. It takes a second for Keith to let go of him, his reaction time delayed, pupils glazed over with the same fuck-haze James is sure he's got in his own eyes. </p><p> </p><p>They make it to the bedroom somehow, stumbling, sort of hanging off of each other, banging into walls and door frames as they go. Maybe those bruises will disguise the more obviously intimate ones, James thinks, with little hope. His neck is a mess, he can feel it.</p><p> </p><p>He untangles himself from Keith just enough to push him back onto the bed (he falls, willing, landing on his back with a punched-out sound, lips parted, <em> legs </em> parted, Jesus Christ) and James fumbles around in the top drawer of his bedside table for the little half-empty thing of lube he knows is in there somewhere, unless he left it under the bed again or let it get lost under his laundry, god dammit, where - thank god, there it is - and now he's coating his fingers with the cool gel and pressing them into Keith, whose head falls silently back like he's overcome, showing the long angular line of his throat. (James, surprising himself, is the one who groans.)</p><p> </p><p>Holy fuck, he's so tight and hot inside. The gel warms up in seconds.</p><p> </p><p>"F-fuck," Keith slurs, and his hips tilt up and off the bed, he's looking for more, and it would be cruel of James not to give it to him, wouldn't it? He presses further, forcing himself to move slowly, and crooks his fingertips, brushing against some soft and swollen thing inside of Keith that chokes a startled pain-pleasure cry out of him, a rough-edged "<em> ah </em>" that puts James out of his mind with how bad he wants to fuck him.</p><p> </p><p>So he does.</p><p> </p><p>He loses a few seconds right after he pushes in, lost in the clench and then the slide, his whole body bowed over Keith, bracing his weight on his arms, breathing, waiting for his head to stop spinning. He takes in the long, arching shape of Keith under him, his hair wild on the pillow, lips parted and red, pupils slitted like an animal's. Keith is so sharply beautiful like this, James stops breathing and forgets to start again. </p><p> </p><p>"Jesus," he says with the last of his air, and then Keith makes a rough little impatient noise and <em> moves </em> and James feels his mouth fall open and his head drops to Keith's shoulder at the white-hot glide of his cock inside Keith's body.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The poor punching bag doesn't deserve the beating James is giving it. Not the punching bag's fault the universe has somehow swallowed up four Garrison students without so much as a trace, three of whom James doesn't even know or care about. </p><p> </p><p>James is wailing on the bag anyway, because he sure isn't about to talk to any of his actual friends about how it feels like somebody took an ice cream scoop and hollowed out his insides, or something. See, it's awkward to explain, because he and Kogane aren't anything, never were anything other than school rivals, and James has no <em> right </em> to feel this - this - knocked on his ass by the whole thing.</p><p> </p><p>Especially since Kogane has technically been gone for months.</p><p> </p><p>Especially since James Griffin is top of the fighter pilot class now.</p><p> </p><p>He kicks the bag over and over, until his hair is limp with sweat and his lungs ache and his legs feel like tenderized meat. </p><p> </p><p>It’s annoying, because at least in school, before the Garrison, James was top of the class on his own merits. He gave Kogane shit for bragging about being the best pilot in not only their year, but the entire Garrison pilot program, but the thing was, Kogane was right. He was only stating facts. Even if it made him sound like an asshole.</p><p> </p><p>James didn't earn the top slot this time. Not really.</p><p> </p><p>It's absolutely not fair of him to think that maybe he understands how Kogane felt when the Kerberos mission went dark. Kogane and Shirogane were close. They had years of history between them. Kogane was at the launch, for Christ's sake. Not Shirogane's family, not the ex-fiance who purportedly broke up with him when he decided to accept the mission (asshole, James thinks, with enough venom to surprise himself). Just Kogane, tiny in the footage James and the other cadets watched on the hall monitors, dwarfed by the research vessel rumbling on the launchpad.</p><p> </p><p>James slumps down onto the bench at the edge of the mat, chugs a bottle of Gatorade, yanks off his shirt and mops his face with it. Stays like that longer than he means to, face buried in the clammy fabric, blocking out the gym and the Garrison and the world, just breathing, breathing in the visceral tang of his own sweat. Breathing, and hating himself.</p><p> </p><p>What's he going to do, march into Iverson's office and demand to know the truth? Like Kogane did, because that went so well for him?</p><p> </p><p>What does he wish? That he was there in the desert that night, getting whirled off into space with Kogane, instead of the comms cadet, the engineer, the fucking cargo pilot?</p><p> </p><p>Yeah. Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>Would Kogane prefer James’s company to those other cadets? Probably not. Then again, Kogane never seemed to prefer anyone’s company but Shirogane’s, and Shirogane is gone.</p><p> </p><p>Kogane’s gone now too. Maybe now James can finally, finally quit thinking about him. (He knows exactly how well that didn’t work for Kogane, when the Kerberos team disappeared. But he can hope, can’t he.)</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Now James is the one who's shaking.</p><p> </p><p>It's been a while for him. He's had flings since the war, sure, here and there, never anything long-term or serious (and this is a fling too, he reminds himself, he's helping out a buddy, that's all, Keith will be gone in the morning, back to the spaceport, fucking off to the ass-end of the galaxy to continue his relief work with the Blade of Marmora, or whatever the fuck he's doing these days, who cares, it doesn't matter, the point is he'll be far away from Earth and it'll be another five years before they see each other again) but he's badly out of practice and he's reduced to hiding his face against the side of Keith's neck, panting and gasping and trembling as he fucks into the tight-wet-hot of Keith's body. Keith is making this mewling, animal sound, vulnerable and guttural.</p><p> </p><p>He wants to slow down, savor it, make sure he'll remember it. But he can't.</p><p> </p><p>He comes so fast and so hard, he forgets his own name.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He’s thirteen years old and shoving Kogane so hard he tumbles to the ground. He’s jeering, reveling in the rush of being stronger than someone. He <em> told </em> Kogane not to try to join the games he plays with his friends during their scheduled breaks from classes.</p><p> </p><p>(Not that Kogane <em> joined in </em>, really, this time. They happened to sort of run into him, dashing from one end of the schoolyard to the other, passing a little too close to the fence where Kogane likes to lurk alone, leaning on a fencepost and staring out over the yard at the other students playing, like he's better than them. He certainly saw them coming; he should have moved.)</p><p> </p><p>He blinks, and Kogane is up and springing at him, biting sharp-toothed into the meat of his arm, and James is yelling, more surprised than hurt, though it does hurt, fuck, it definitely hurts. The students clustered around watch in wide-eyed silence. Someone runs to get an instructor. </p><p> </p><p>"What the fuck is wrong with you!" James yells, voice thick with fury, tears springing up in his eyes. His arm is bleeding, like a lot. "What are you, a fucking wild animal!"</p><p> </p><p>Kogane says nothing. Just watches him, arms trapped behind his back by an older student, blood on his mouth, glaring.</p><p> </p><p>He really looks like an animal now, cornered and furious.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Keith comes a second later. James can tell because Keith's whole body clenches and everything inside him knots up into a single impossibly tight fist and James make a whimpery overstimulated noise and tries to pull his cock out before he's crushed to death but Keith's legs are locked around him and he's digging his nails into James's back, ah fuck, it hurts, it hurts more than human fingernails are supposed to hurt, and then James feels hot trickles of blood making their way down the sides of his ribcage and thinks, with a distant curiosity, that maybe Keith does not, in fact, have human fingernails right now.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s done clenching, Keith falls slack beneath him, breathing in faint little huffs. The only place in him that James can find tension now is between his eyebrows, just one crease, like he’s trying to hold on to the release, the relief, trying to keep his brain in the white-static nothing of post-orgasm. </p><p> </p><p>James brushes his knuckle over the crease, smoothing it, before he can stop himself. The side of his hand drags against the edges of the long scar on Keith's face; James still doesn't know how he got it.</p><p> </p><p>Keith lets him touch, and even looks at him after, a low-lidded, unfocused look. Seeing him, but not <em> seeing </em>him. Seeing him, but not caring.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Sendak’s battleship plows into the ground like a felled beast, nose gouging the earth, catching and pivoting until the body impacts at a perpendicular. Skids, kicking up a massive billow of dust.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Shiro! </em>” Keith screams over the comm, ragged, and James clenches his teeth so hard his whole head aches inside his helmet.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>James falls asleep sticky and too hot, still half on top of Keith, legs still tangled, his face pressed against the side of Keith's neck, sweat drying between his shoulder blades, come drying down the front of his hip.</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes up, there’s nothing of Keith in the bed except a scattering of off-white stains and a few dried brown drops of his own blood.</p><p> </p><p>James groans and hauls himself to a sitting position. His neck is stiff, tender with bruises when he prods at it. His mouth tastes like utter shit. When he stretches, the claw wounds in his back pull and tug and reopen, and it hurts, and it bleeds, and James thinks, good. Good. Let it.</p><p> </p><p>Only after a long, scalding shower, some perfunctory gauze and tape on the gouges, a thorough teeth-brushing, and stumbling into last night's sweatpants does James find the scrap of paper pinned to his fridge with one of the boring square magnets provided by the Garrison in all the officers’ quarters. </p><p> </p><p><em> Sorry </em>, it says, in rough block letters.</p><p> </p><p>Resting his forehead on the freezer door, James thinks about taking the note down. Crumpling it, maybe. </p><p> </p><p>But he doesn't.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title from Pretend You're Missing Me by Betty Who. Thank you @AriaJoie for the beta.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>